The Past Best Forgotten
by Another Writer Who Loves
Summary: "Right. Right." John said as he leaned back into his seat. "No interruptions, once I start I don't want to stop until the end." He licked his lips. "The beginning." He suddenly gave a humorless laugh. "I suppose the beginning would be when I was five years old and I had killed my father." John finally tells Sherlock and Mycroft about his past.
1. Chapter 1

"You can understand why I am having a hard time believing you, correct?" Sherlock asked. Despite his words his eyes didn't stray from the pictures.

"Completely understandable." Mycroft agreed. He leaned back in his seat. "In fact, I would not have believed it myself unless I had indisputable proof." He waved his hand at the photographs. "That is why I am here."

"To get information from the direct source?" Sherlock asked as he nimbly picked up one of the photos.

The image was very clear. It showed a younger John in the middle of performing a complex martial arts kick. Not something completely out of the ordinary.

Except that John looked to be about eight years old. At the most.

Most of the pictures that showed a preteen or younger John showed him performing a wide array of martial arts, from kicks to punches to using his complete body. Others showed him using, dismantling, and learning about what seemed to be all kinds of guns and weaponry. Others simply showed him attending lessons or lectures with other students, some close to his age while others were older.

However the pictures that showed his teenage years told a different story. There John was caught in the middle of fights with both parties bruised and bleeding. A knife covered in blood here, a bruised knuckle there. And most jarring of all were the countless ones where he had a gun and was obviously aiming at someone from afar.

In each picture his eyes were visible. Cold ice blue eyes that held no warmth or care that Sherlock was used to. Instead they were emotionless, unfeeling, ruthless eyes that he had seen countless times on his culprits.

The eyes of someone who murdered and enjoyed doing the act.

"You are certain, that there is no mistake?" Sherlock asked softly, his finger trailing along his lip.

"I had my best men check it over twice while I overlooked every step that they took." Mycroft said. "They are real."

Before Sherlock could say anything they heard very clearly as the front door opened and John's familiar voice as he walked on the phone to his sister.

"Yes, I am very proud of you." John said as he walked up the stairs. "Yes, I will meet with you for dinner this Friday. Promise."

He appeared at the top of the stairs now. He smiled at Sherlock and gave a polite nod towards Mycroft, failing to notice their gaze on him and the photographs on the table as he walked into the kitchen.

"Yes I am taking care of myself harry." John continued to talk. He opened the fridge and took something out. "Yes, three meals a day and at least eight hours of sleep."

They continued to talk and inquire about the other before they finally hanged up. John walked back into the living room with his cell phone in his pocket and a smile on face as he finally took off his jacket and hanged it on the door.

"Alright, it's been quite for a couple minutes too long. What did you boys fight about this time?" John asked as he finally turned to face Sherlock and Mycroft.

Neither brother answered. Mycroft was simply staring at John while Sherlock looked him up and down, searing for something.

John rolled his eyes and started forward. "Honestly, what's gotten into you tw-" he suddenly stopped as his eyes on the pictures. His smile disappeared as his face lost color.

In two brisk steps John reached the table. He grabbed a handful of pictures and looked at them one by one.

Almost automatically his body relaxed. The tension left his shoulders and he seemed to calm down. His eyes turned to a mixture of hardness and yet indifference. He glanced at the Holmes' and held up the pictures.

"What's this rubbish?" he asked in an almost believable voice.

"We were hoping that you would be able to tell us." Mycroft said. "Drop the act John Watson, playing ignorance does not suit you."

John shrugged as he threw the photographs back onto the table. "Have no idea what you're talking about." he said sliding his hands into his pockets.

"Perhaps these names will mean something to you then." Mycroft said taking a paper out from a folder on the desk and peering at it. "Jessica Stanton. Matthew Henessey. Daniel Langley. Alexander Smith. Amanda Jackson. Shall I go on?" he asked as John grew paler with each name.

"Never heard of those people in my life." John insisted.

"John." Sherlock said catching Johns wince at his voice. "It's quite easy to lie to my brother, neither one of us can stand him. However," he locked his gaze with Johns "lie to me then."

John swallowed the lump in his throat and closed his eyes. He gave a light groan as he fell back onto the couch.

"Not to you Sherlock, never to you." John whispered. His eyes looked pained when he opened them. "What do you want to know?"

"Are the pictures real?" Sherlock asked.

John didn't meet his gaze when he nodded.

"Who are you?"

"John Hamish Watson." John said immediately. "It's a real person; I never in my life took a false identity."

"Then tell me everything." Sherlock said as both he and Mycroft leaned back into their seats to get comfortable. "Start from the beginning and leave nothing out."

"And don't be boring?" John asked bitterly as he remembered Sherlock saying the exact words to their clients. "I'll tell, God knows I need to tell someone, however I'll tell on a couple of conditions."

He leaned towards Mycroft. "There is a lot of illegal actions that happened in my past, with a lot of different people getting involved. I want your word that none of those actions will be held against me or anyone else."

"You have my word." Mycroft agreed.

John now turned to Sherlock. "And from you Sherlock, just please don't look at me any differently than you did before."

Sherlock nodded.

"Right. Right." John said as he leaned back into his seat. "No interruptions, once I start I don't want to stop until the end." He licked his lips. "The beginning."

He suddenly gave a humorless laugh. "I suppose the beginning would be when I was five years old and I had killed my father."

**I do not own Sherlock. Warnings will be placed on top of each chapter and there will be a reason for these warnings. Going to be rated M for safety because of violence.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning! Child abuse and a child kills a grown man.**

John whimpered as he covered his ears. He felt Harry pull him onto her lap and tighten her grip on him.

In the living room their fathers voice got louder as he yelled at Johns teach on the phone.

"I'm sorry." he whispered to Harry. "I didn't mean for it to come out. It was an accident."

"I know." Harry said reassuringly as she kissed the side of his head. "I know."

"How I discipline my children is no one's concern!" their father yelled.

John flinched and pushed himself closer to his sister.

Their father slammed the phone down and yelled "John!"

"Go." Harry whispered pulling John off of her lap. "It'll be worse if you don't."

John nodded as he walked to the living room trying to gather his courage.

He entered the living room to a familiar sight. His father standing unsteadily with a glass of amber liquid in his hand. The table was covered with bottles, a cutting board, a watermelon, and a long sharp knife.

"So." his father sneered at him. "Think you're too good for this place, huh?"

John quickly shook his head.

"Your teacher called." his father continued. "She said that you gave a very interesting answer today in class. Care to say it here?"

Lying. Try to lie. He licked his lips. "I don't know what you mean, si-"

The next thing John knew he was on the ground with stars in his vision and the side of his head was hurting.

"Since you're stupid and everything, I'll tell you." his father said taking a sip from his glass. "Your teacher called and said she asked the class a question. The question was 'what is it you want the most?' you answered that you would like a daddy that didn't drink funny smelling water and who then wouldn't hit you with his belt."

John felt his entire body shake as he shook his head.

"Stop lying to me!" his father yelled as he threw the contents of his drink onto John. "You ungrateful brat!" He then pushed John onto the side of the table.

John whimpered as he felt his neck smashed against the side of the table, as the drink flowed from his head down his body. His head was on top of the table, his eyes flashed to the knife for a moment.

"You think you're too good to live here?" his father roared. Fast and a familiar path his hands went to his belt and slid it out. He gripped both ends in his hand and brought it down.

John cried out as the belt hit his legs. He slammed against the table in an instinctual attempt to get away. Everything on top of the table clattered.

The belt came down again and again; each one was accompanied with his father's shouting.

"Worthless little thing!"

"Think you're too good for here?"

"I'm going to kill you! Maybe then you'll appreciate everything I've done for you!"

John cried out once more, his entire body hurting. He dove underneath the table and on the other side in an attempt to get away from his father.

"Get back here!" his father yelled. "Get back here until I'm finished with you!" He walked around the table to where John was.

John was barely aware of the hot tears running down his face as he crawled away from his father. His father was practically roaring. He gripped the sides of the table and threw it to the side. Part of the foot caught John on his forehead causing a small river of blood to flow from the cut.

His father grabbed his ankle and pulled John towards him. John flailed and struggled to get free.

"That teacher of yours was telling me that he was going to take my children from me." his father said. John was able to smell his disgusting breath even from the floor. "Neither you or Harriet are going anywhere. You're mine. Forever."

Harry. His sister.

John felt panic flow through him. Acting on instinct once more he kicked his legs wildly. He thrashed his head around in hopes of finding something that could help him.

His eyes fell on the knife that had fallen to the ground after his father had thrown the table to the ground. It was only a few feet away.

With a stroke of luck John managed to kick the side of his father's arm that he had hurt two nights ago. His father yelled in surprise and his grip on John loosened.

John grabbed the moment and scrambled away from his father. He stumbled as he used his arms and legs to get to the knife.

His hand closed around the handle just as his father grabbed him again.

John brought the knife up and to the side. He managed to make a shallow cut on his father's arm.

His father jerked back in surprise and stared almost transfixed as a few drops of blood rolled downward. He then turned back and glared at John now and jumped towards him, his hands coming up towards John's neck.

John was barely aware of bringing the knife upwards.

Suddenly both of them froze. His father's hands just starting to curl around John's throat. John with the knife still in his hand lifted upwards. John then became aware of feeling something dripping onto him.

Together his father looked downward and John chanced a glance upwards.

The knife was buried up to the hilt in his father's chest. Right where his heart was.

His father coughed, blood spew from his mouth slowly until he gave a garbled cough, spraying his blood onto Johns head.

John stayed still as the blood made its slow descend down his head and face. He didn't let go of the knife and his eyes remained transfixed at the wound.

Slowly his father sank to the ground, sputtering with blood flowing around the knife still buried in his chest and from his mouth. His body gave a shudder as he choked before he lay still on the ground.

John finally let go of the knife, he hadn't let go of it once and that had caused a thin line cut into his father's chest as the man had slid to the ground.

John didn't move until he heard a whimpering sound behind him. He turned to see Harry standing there with tears in her eyes.

"John?" Harry whispered.

The moment she said his name John realized that he had done something. Something bad.

Something that bad people did.

Something that bad people did and then were sent to jail for.

He felt something inside of him collapse. Bursting into tears he ran into her awaiting arms which she wrapped around him immediately.

"It's okay." she whispered soothingly as John sobbed into her shirt. She petted his head, ignoring the alcohol and blood tangled in his hair. "I'm going to take care of everything, don't worry."

Harry gently pushed John away and walked to their father. She took the knife out of his chest with the end of her shirt and walked out of the room. John could hear her lifting the opening to their secret compartment underneath her bed. When she returned to the living room she crossed over to the phone. She took a deep breath and picked up the receiver. John saw her dial '999' and waited.

When a voice was heard on the other end Harry burst into tears.

"It-it-it's my dad." she sobbed. "A man came in and he and dad were yelling a lot. I heard something and now the ma-man is gone and-and dads not moving! There's blood everywhere!"

John could hear a voice on the line but he couldn't make out the words.

"I don't know." Harry moaned. "My little brother is hurt and my dad's not moving!" she shrieked the last few words.

She whimpered and listed to what the operator said before giving their address and then screeching "He's back! He's back! He's-" before yanking the phone out of the wall.

She then wiped her face and ran into the kitchen. She came back with a skillet and took Johns hand where she quickly led them to the small closet next to the bathroom where she pulled him into and closed the door behind them.

"Listen to me John." Harry whispered holding the skillet tightly. "Here is what we tell the police. A man came in, dad let him in, and they started yelling at each other. We heard a loud noise and when we went to look he was gone and dad was on the ground. I called the police and the man came back and disconnected the phone. I ran into the kitchen to grab this," she raised the skillet "to protect us but you got hurt." she motioned to the cut he had forgotten about. "And we ran into here to hide. That's all you tell the police and if they want to know more start crying and ask to come back to me." She gripped him tightly by the shoulder. "Do you understand?"

John nodded as hard as he was able to. They could hear police sirens around now.

"Everything's going to be okay John." Harry whispered. "Everything's going to be okay."

**I do not own Sherlock.**


	3. Chapter 3

"You're sure that you don't have any nightmares?" his therapist insisted.

John nodded.

"No visions? No images? Anything?"

He shook his head.

The therapist had an unreadable expression on his face. "Very well, you may go."

He quickly gathered all of his things and practically ran out of the room. He hated these sessions with the therapist, and his grandmother agreed and said that they were a waste of time; however the police had insisted that both siblings attend therapy in order to help cope with the trauma of their father's murder.

After the police investigation, which didn't last that long after learning that his father had beat his kids, and after questioning both him and Harry they had been placed with a grandmother that they never knew existed.

Agatha Watson was their father's mother however there was no other resemblance. She wasn't the warmest or kindest woman however she was far from the worst, especially after their father.

Harry looked up and smiled when John entered the waiting room. Wordlessly she stood and extended her hand, which John took into his own, and together they left.

John stole side glances at his older sister, older than him by five years. His sister who kept their secret from being found out and taking all responsibility in order to protect him. His sister who he loved more than anyone.

Harry was smiling and occasionally squeezed Johns hand as he told her about his day at school and what had happened at the therapist session. She never seemed interested in telling John about her day however she did answer his questions.

The walk home was short. Their new home was a small house that their grandmother's mother had owned. It was comfortable and each sibling had their own room, unlike their apartment with their father. Ever since they moved in a month ago everything had been calm and normal.

Today however there was a car parked outside. A black, sleek, very official looking car. Harry and John froze at the sight of it.

"It's probably just social services." Harry said softly, now clutching Johns hand tightly. "They just probably want to check on us."

John nodded. Harry was probably right. Harry was always right.

Together they walked up to the house and entered it. Dimly the sounds of their grandmother talking with another woman from the kitchen reached their ears.

They walked into the kitchen to see Agatha talking with a woman around her age over tea. The stranger glanced at the siblings and smiled.

"Children." Agatha said in her deep voice. She raised her hand towards the woman. "This is an old friend of mine, Christina Douglas. She is here to talk with you."

Christina was smiling at Harry and John. "I've heard a lot about you two and I really couldn't wait to meet with you guys."

Slowly Harry and John relaxed and took the two remaining seats as Agatha poured them tea.

"I've heard a lot about you two." Christina repeated happily as she turned to face them and crossed her legs.

"From who?" Harry asked ignoring the tea in front of her.

"Everyone." Christina said. "From your grandmother. And especially from the police reports."

"And what did you learn?" Harry demanded.

Christina's smiled widened. "Well I didn't learn anything new about the police; they are incompetent and idiotic as always. But I did learn something very interesting about you two."

"Christina, get to the point." Agatha cut in. "Stop giving the children heart attacks."

"John killing his father. Harriet covering the whole thing, so loyally." Christina said, watching the two suddenly pale children in front of her. "The two of you caught our attention."

John was shaking. Harry put her arm around him.

"And just what about that caught whose attention?" Harry asked as coldly as she was able to.

"We are a special organization that deals with troublesome people. Terrorists." Christina explained. "We are in charge with keeping our Great Britain, and occasionally the rest of the world of course, safe."

"I was actually a part of the organization as well." Agatha injected. "Christina and I were placed together and we were often working together." She watched her grandchildren carefully. "It is a family honor, one that both your parents unfortunately refused to acknowledge for their own petty reasons. I am counting on you children to bring honor and pride back into the family by joining."

"So where do we come in?" Harry inquired.

"Usually we start with adults, teaching and training them. However about ten years ago we decided to try teaching from a younger age. Children with certain qualities or skills."

"Such as?"

Christina looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well it could be anything, some of the children are better than others in gymnastics, basketball, and swimming; as funny as it seems the skills we look for in children aren't as rare as one would think that they are. If a child is better than others in a certain field then they have our attention. Others are willing to lie for people they barely know. Above all we place loyalty in the qualities we look for." Christina said.

"And what do we have?" John asked.

"Harriet has loyalty. Such loyalty to her brother that she took charge when John killed your father. Covering the death, hiding the weapon, lying to the police." she said looking at Harry. "Such loyalty we love to see above everything else."

"John, however, is different. He committed the act itself." she said turning to look at John now. "You didn't hesitate. You were being hurt and you saw a chance to get away. And you took it. With no hesitation or second thought you killed for the right cause."

"You didn't cry either." Christina commented. "When you committed the act and realized what you did. You didn't cry. At least until you saw your sister standing there, seeing what you've done. Only after seeing Harriet did you realize that you did something bad. Or at least what is deemed bad by the social norms."

"How the hell do you know all of this?" Harry hissed.

Christina smiled. "There is little that happens in England that we don't know of."

"Now then, to the point." she said folding her hands. "We are offering the two of you a place in our school. You would still be going to the school you are going to now, law demands it and there are certain laws that even we can't ignore, and our school would be done during afterhours."

"And what do we learn?"

"Everything you need in order to keep our great country safe." Christina said. "You will basically become spies."

"Like James Bond?" John asked.

Christina nodded. "Just like James Bond."

Harry, on the other hand, didn't look impressed. "James Bond killed people." she reminded her brother.

"He killed the right people." Christina corrected.

"So if we learn from your school we are going to learn how to kill people." Harry said slowly. "And eventually we are going to have to kill people ourselves."

"Only those who deserve to be killed." Christina said. "Those who try to hurt others. Over use their powers. Hurt those who should be protected. Much like your father did."

John glanced down at his hands on his lap. Minutes ago they were shaking. Now they were steady as rocks.

"I'm not doing it." Harry declared. "There's nothing you can say that will change my mind."

"Harriet!" Agatha lectured. "Manners! And most of all, you don't seem to realize just what kind of opportunity you are throwing away."

Christina shrugged. "It's all up to you." she said to Harry before she turned to John. "What do you say John?"

John bit his lip. "If I said yes, I'll be helping? To get rid of the bad guys?"

"John!" Harry exclaimed as Christina nodded and Agatha looked on in pride.

Slowly John nodded. "I want to help others. I'm in."

**I do not own anything.**


End file.
